*Editor’s Note: this post was originally published on Chloë’s blog.
When I lived in cancer world, everyone was praising my strength. I was standing tall as a mountain, walking with giant stride, carrying my baby in my arms. I didn’t flicker ; I rarely cried. When asked how I was holding on, I always said – it’s not like I have a choice, she needs me to fight by her side.
I’m not sure where I live now, though it feels like I never really left cancer world. And again everyone is praising my strength. I’m still standing, still going on, now empty armed. I didn’t fall apart ; no one ever saw me cry.
When asked how I’m holding on, I can’t find a thing to say.
This strength, turned into weakness since it’s of no use to you – a wasted energy, an unrequited love – more cockroach strength than mama bear’s – this strength is heavy on me, heavier than your light weight was, my butterfly.
Each day is taking you further away from me, and I can’t even see your face anymore. I cling to details trying to bring you back, but it’s like cupping my hands together to hold back the tide. I’m fighting the ocean, baby. What kind of strength does one need for such a task ?
I used to think I’d find you blindfolded when I see you again. But as we learn there’s no heaven and this life was all that was given, and even if – even if – I can’t remember your smell anymore. Sometimes it’s too painful to even try.
I feel you so, so gone.
I thought as we were made from each other we would be together forever.
I thought this was our everlasting love, the kind of love to beat sickness, the kind of love to conquer death. I thought I would find a way, find a surgeon, find a cure. I thought I could save you. I thought this would kill me.
I’m so sorry baby.
I still love you.
I hope you still love me.
- Love After Loss – Part II - February 10, 2017
- Love After Loss – Part I - February 8, 2017
- Sorry Not Sorry - January 23, 2017